


known to swing, prone to cling

by Nacht



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst, Complicated Relationships, Consent Issues, Drunk Sex, Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5900824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nacht/pseuds/Nacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros either tries too hard or not at all, according to Maglor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	known to swing, prone to cling

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Placebo's Every You Every Me.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated. The more I edited this fic the more I started thinking it belonged in a drawer forever.

Maglor came to his rooms several hours after dinner. Maedhros had been contemplating going out on one last round to check on the guards posted around the outer walls, but as he stared up into Maglor’s dark eyes from where he sat at his desk he realized that he would not be able to leave again. 

Instead, he scowled and poured himself yet another glass of wine, replacing the one he’d just finished.

Maglor was wearing nothing more than a warm nightgown and house shoes, his long hair braided down his back in a simple three strand braid. He looked tired and relaxed, too casual, too intimate, too much like Maedhros’ little brother and too much like his lover at once.

Maedhros swallowed a large mouthful of wine, head spinning.

Maglor leaned against his desk. The surface was scarred with blots of ink and multiple scratches. Maedhros no longer took pleasure in the act of writing. He disdained it as much as he had once loved it, and his lack of caring showed in each and every frustrated mark gouged into the wood.

He buried his nose in his glass, drinking deeply, hiding his face behind it until Maglor plucked it straight from his hand.

“How much have you had?” he asked as he refilled in.

“Enough,” Maedhros admitted, but he still snatched it back and took another sip almost as soon as Maglor was finished.

It was strong wine, bitter and sour, sediment swirling in clouds around the bottom of the bottle.

Maedhros wasn’t drinking it for the taste.

Maglor set the bottle aside and swept a hand over Maedhros’ shoulder and up his neck, kneading his fingers across Maedhros’ scalp and tangling them into his hair, brushing his fringe off of his forehead. Maedhros’ stomach seemed to turn over in his abdomen, and he hummed out an uncomfortable breath. He felt overheated, either from the excess of wine or from Maglor’s touch. He ducked his head, skin flushing, and tightened his grip on his glass.

“Elrond and Elros are both asleep,” Maglor said.

Maedhros growled.

A sudden wave of anger and revulsion swept over him. The tendons in his right arm twitched as he longed to form a fist. His missing hand ached. “Why must you playact at normalcy?” he demanded, recoiling an instant later as he heard how slurred the words sounded coming out of his mouth.

He eyed the wine in his glass and in the bottle and then looked up at Maglor. The lights around him were soft and out of focus, but he appeared sharper and more beautiful than ever, his skin luminous and his hair for once untangled and well cared for, shining as dark as the night itself. 

His stomach turned over again, and he felt somehow more angry than ever.

He swallowed more of the wine, gritting his teeth as it seared down his throat.

“They are not your children, and you are nothing to them save the murderer who drove their mother to suicide,” he said all at once, over enunciating to make up for his previous slip and knowing full well that he was being cruel.

Maglor didn’t even flinch. 

Maedhros had spoken words in the same vein before, on multiple occasions. To garner a reaction he would have to cut deeper.

He continued to sip his wine, waiting with growing impatience for Maglor to give him another opening.

Maglor’s fingers drifted back to scratching his scalp.

He finally said, “Their mother still lives despite my worst intentions.”

Maedhros lit up with anger, and he crowed out in reply, “Do you think she’ll thank you for what you’re doing to her sons?”

Maglor paused, freezing in place.

Maedhros turned his head, smearing Maglor’s fingers across his ear, and watched as his lips twisted in brief anguish before pulling back into a sneer vicious enough to match Maedhros’ own.

“Drink your wine, then,” he snapped. “Your insults betray you for the drunkard you are.”

Maedhros flushed red hot, sudden embarrassment sweeping over him and mingling with his rage. His desire to rile his brother up vanished, replaced with a pathetic and desperate need to make him leave as soon as possible. He cried, “Stop showing up here as though you belong in my rooms. You treat me as your husband the same way you treat them as your children.”

Maglor still refused to flinch.

He did not release his hold on Maedhros or spin on his heel to leave as Maedhros wished that he would, abandoning him to his wine and his growing shame.

His hand clenched tight in Maedhros’ hair instead, and he pulled so hard his entire head was wrenched backwards. He screamed. His rage burned like incandescent fire across his skin, and he threw his nearly empty glass in Maglor’s face, watching in frustration as Maglor blocked it on the sleeve of his nightgown. It clattered across the floor in a shower of droplets which rained down on stone and carpet as fine and red as freshly spilt blood.

The overpowering smell of alcohol left behind made both of them choke.

Maedhros’ stomach churned.

Maglor’s free hand grasped the front of his tunic and hauled him straight out of his chair in a single motion.

He immediately listed sideways.

The room spun around him, and he clung to Maglor despite his anger and revulsion, knowing that without him to lean against he would topple over, unable to stand unassisted. His vision blurred so badly he felt rather than saw as Maglor backed against the wall behind his desk with Maedhros slumped in his arms.

He stooped, boneless, knees almost buckling, and buried his head in Maglor’s neck.

Maglor continued to cling to his short hair.

“Are you really going to deny wedding me, brother?” he asked, his voice low and melodious. “You’re my husband many times over by deed alone.”

Maedhros swallowed acid as it rose in his throat, but he couldn’t stave off the wave of desire that shot through him at the sound of his brother’s voice. It threatened to overtake him, sweeping away even the brightest flames of his anger. He stretched his hand clumsily over the broad curve of Maglor’s hip. The heat from his skin radiated against Maedhros’ palm through the fabric of his nightgown.

His fingers trembled. “This isn’t right.”

Maglor slid his hand down the line of Maedhros’ back. “I haven’t forgotten that. I simply do not see the need to mention it constantly.”

He growled. “Fuck you.”

Maglor shivered. His hand slipped further, cupping and squeezing Maedhros’ ass over his trousers. “You have my permission to try,” he said, hot and sly. “Though I’m not sure how well you’d manage it in your current state.”

“I’m not that drunk,” Maedhros snapped.

He forced his right arm over Maglor’s shoulder and used the leverage to prop himself higher up on his chest. His movements were sluggish and wild, knees still buckling and weak underneath him, but his head felt clearer than it had during the heat of their brief argument.

Maglor laughed. “Aren’t you?” he asked, tightening his grip on Maedhros’ ass and kneading with strong fingertips and broad knuckles.

Maedhros moaned.

Maglor’s hands settled into a firmer hold against him, and he pushed himself off of the wall they were leaning against, beginning to walk them back across the room towards Maedhros’ bed. Maedhros stumbled the entire time, their pace made glacial by his clumsiness.

Maglor steadied him.

He prevented him from falling even as Maedhros protested, “One bottle of wine isn’t enough to get me drunk.”

Maglor tipped him onto the blankets, and Maedhros landed amongst them in a boneless heap. “You’ve had far more than one bottle’s worth,” he said. “Or haven’t you been drinking since dinner ended?”

It wasn’t a true question.

Both of them knew the answer, though Maedhros was unwilling to admit it.

His eyes fluttered closed and acid rose up again in the back of his throat, embarrassment stealing over him without any of his previous rage to cover it up. He swallowed, or tried to, but it did nothing for the sickness he felt. His throat continued to burn, and he turned his head, pressing his stump against his mouth and drawing in deep breaths through his nose.

Maglor lay down at his side and pried his arm from his face.

Maedhros barely resisted him.

The ceiling swam in and out of focus as he attempted to keep his eyes open. Then Maglor leaned in close and blocked his view of it, filling Maedhros’ vision until all he could see was his brother.

His dark eyes shone with sparkling light, burning with their own inner fire, and his expression was hard and sad, tired and cold, but still beautiful.

Maedhros stared, transfixed.

His stomach continued to churn, but pleasure surged up in his veins as well, beating back some of the resulting sickness.

Maglor sealed their lips together.

The kiss that followed was too much for him to bear. He struggled to understand it, failing to respond to it as it overwhelmed him. His mouth opened in surprise, and he hesitated, passive and compliant.

He reached out.

His fingers fumbled and slipped from Maglor’s shoulder, tangling in the fabric of his nightgown.

Maglor grasped his right forearm, pressing it deep into the blankets above his head, holding him down and taking his mouth as though preparing to ravish him.

Maedhros groaned and did nothing to stop him.

He wasn’t sure if he could have done anything even if he had wanted to. His limbs were heavy and uncooperative, his head swimming once again.

His skin felt altogether too warm.

He arched against the blankets and into Maglor’s touch. Maglor’s tongue drew deeper into his mouth, sliding over his teeth and tickling him, sending sparks of desire skittering across his skin. He moaned, panting, unable to concentrate enough to breathe through his nose.

His cock stirred in his trousers, and he felt himself blush from the overwhelming shame of it.

There was no excuse for his lust. It was a base perversion, a twisted and reprehensible form of love born from something broken inside himself. He could not rationalize it, and he could not even blame Maglor for it, despite Maglor’s lips tearing him open and breaking him asunder, sending Maedhros’ blood thundering through his veins hard and fast, pounding behind his temples.

Maglor wasn’t at the heart of this.

Maedhros had carried it with him for too long. There was no one else to blame and no one else this could have come from other than himself alone.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he whimpered into Maglor’s mouth.

Maglor’s fingernails bit in the skin of his forearm. He pulled back from Maedhros’ mouth with a wet sound of suction that echoed in the resulting silence and stared down at him.

His expression was searing.

Maedhros stared back, his breath catching in his throat at the sight.

The strength of his lust increased exponentially, chasing off all that was left of his higher thoughts. The haze that surrounded him grew in strength. Blood pooled below his waist, rushing downwards and filling his cock to hardness.

He tried to sit up.

He longed to chase after Maglor’s mouth and recapture his lips in another searing, passionate kiss, but he had forgotten Maglor’s grip on his arm. The pressure of it had faded into the background along with everything else, and it took him tugging against it and being held fast to realize that his brother had him pinned down, hard, arm stretched over his head in a position that was achingly, horrifically familiar.

He shuddered, heart suddenly hammering wildly in his chest.

He thrashed.

Maglor refused to release him.

He pinned Maedhros even harder, shoving him against the bed with brutal force and catching Maedhros’ flailing hand in his. He tangled their fingers together, squeezing Maedhros’ knuckles between his own as he straddled his hips, one pale leg thrown across his thighs with an almost casual grace that belied the danger lurking in the depths of his eyes.

Maedhros sobbed. It came out raw and desperate, rising from the shadows buried deep amongst his memories.

Maglor kissed him.

He cried out, and Maglor swallowed down his panic, drawing it into his mouth and humming with apparent pleasure at the taste of it. Maedhros shuddered and thrust up against him, unsure if he was still attempting to throw him off, or if he was agreeing to surrender himself.

It hardly mattered.

The result was the same in the end.

Maglor thrust into his mouth with his tongue and ground their hips together. Their cocks brushed through the layers of their clothing, both hard, Maedhros himself beginning to ache, his lust all consuming even through his fear.

He shook under Maglor’s hands, eyelids fluttering, torn between closing and remaining open.

His vision blurred and shifted, wobbling in and out of existence as Maglor took him, nearly fucking Maedhros’ mouth with his tongue as he lined up their cocks and continued to thrust them together. Maedhros no longer felt lucid enough to recognize his own overstimulation. His many disparate feelings all clamored over each other in his mind, stacked up in a tower poised on the brink of collapse.

He tried to stir, panic driving him, but the pleasure of Maglor’s weight atop him was enough to break his will and settle him before he could think enough to act. His stomach twisted with guilt. It burned deep, stabbing like a thousand poisoned knives until the heavy blanket of his intoxication rose up and subsumed it, softening it and mixing it with the overarching love he continuously felt for his brother.

He shuddered.

Lust pounded through his veins.

The tears gathering in the corners of his eyes welled over, slipping down his cheeks to stain the blankets under him.

His sobs turned to moans.

He might have been embarrassed at the spectacle he was making once, long ago, but he had at last endured enough to know that no amount of embarrassment or pride was enough to stop his cries from coming out or his tears from falling. Resisting would only lead to a further loss of strength.

He clamped his lips shut around Maglor’s tongue and suckled.

Maglor’s breath hitched.

He groaned something muffled against Maedhros’ teeth, a sweet string of lilting syllables that could have been a plea for more or an admonishment to stop. His fingernails bit deeper into Maedhros’ skin.

Maedhros shook. “Please, brother,” he said, the endearment spilling from his lips in an inarticulate slur as tremors ran up his arms and shuddered across his chest.

Maglor froze.

Maedhros continued to shake under the pressure of his hands before Maglor all at once released him.

He sucked in a great breath of air, cold and sharp in his throat, and scrambled up the bed before lust ensnared him and drove him to remain in the shadow of Maglor’s arms. He reached the pillows before his palm slipped out from under him, sending him tumbling back flat on his back, one of his boots tangled in the blankets as his head swam, and he struggled to see straight.

He groaned, the sound muffled, and shook his head. It did not clear. Instead, dull pain shot through his temples and his stomach lurched.

His tongue darted out, panting.

Maglor stared down at him from where he knelt still at the foot of the bed.

Maedhros stared back.

“You make everything harder on yourself than it has to be,” Maglor said, bitter and apologetic. 

The tone itself cut through the worst of Maedhros’ lust.

He hated the sound of it. It grated against his ears, and he found that he did not wish to listen to it. He twisted his lips, drawing them in a thunderous frown. Maglor’s jaw clenched.

“What are talking about?” Maedhros demanded.

Maglor’s eyes flashed. “We’ve been given time and resources we don’t deserve, without even the weight of the Oath pressing down on us, making us insensible, and yet you do nothing. You squander everything around you on your own pain, and nothing I do is enough to stop you.”

Maedhros’ skin burned as though set alight.

His brother stood, frenzied, circling the bed with the careful, stalking movements of a large predator. Maedhros watched him with mingled rage and lust. He stopped at Maedhros’ feet and began to tug the straps from the buckles of his boots, yanking them with misdirected frustration.

Maedhros’ tongue grew heavy and lax in his mouth.

He grit his teeth.

Maglor’s long braid had fallen over his shoulder at some point, shimmering against the fabric covering his chest as it caught the light of the candles. His lips were swollen past their typical fullness and stained dark red, drawn back into a bitter, pouting grimace.

Maedhros couldn’t stand the sight of him.

It confused and excited him, made it impossible for him to cling to his anger. He closed his eyes, screwing them shut in a vain attempt to concentrate.

His throat spasmed as he swallowed.

He picked his words out one at a time, forcing himself to enunciate them past his leaden tongue. “You say all of that as if you haven’t been spending countless days of your own plucking at your harp and wet nursing those fucking brats.”

He shuddered, stomach roiling with hatred and revulsion. His heart felt torn asunder in his chest.

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, silencing him.

He knew not why he spoke the words he did.

He had tried to think them through, but nevertheless when he spoke they had spilled out raw and far too personal.

He buried his face in the crook of his elbow to keep himself from sobbing, old and painful memories tangling together with further wretched thoughts as his heart thundered with dredged up pain.

Maglor finished with his boots and tossed them and Maedhros’ socks aside.

Maedhros felt as he continued to stare down at him. The weight of his gaze made him crave solitude.

His missing hand itched.

He still had the bottle of wine on his desk. It wouldn’t take much more than what was in it for him to drink himself into a stupor.

He breathed in deep, staving off panic.

Maglor’s words washed over him as he argued, soft but firm, “You care for the twins as much as I do, or at least you would if you simply allowed yourself to.”

Maedhros choked.

Lost in memories, he hissed out, “I couldn’t save them, Maglor. I lost them. I should have killed them.”

Maglor paused in the middle of stripping off Maedhros’ belt. “You did what you could,” he said, his voice growing even quieter as his hands clenched tight against the leather, realizing what Maedhros was referring to.

Maedhros shook his head.

Maglor pulled his belt free and deliberately dropped it over the side of the bed. His eyes lit up from within. “Their nephews are destined for a different fate.”

“You can’t know that,” Maedhros said.

Maglor worked the buttons of his tunic open one at a time. The heat from his fingers crept like an invading force down the center of Maedhros’ chest, clawing at him with lustful insistence.

“Whether I know it or not, that’s what I see,” Maglor replied forcefully. “I’m not trying to save them, Maedhros. I’m only trying to give them what others will not.”

Maedhros meant to argue further.

He opened his mouth to respond, his thoughts slipping around in a jumbled, inarticulate mess, and Maglor pressed their lips together.

It was barely a kiss, but it served its purpose to silence him.

He remained quiet as Maglor divested him of his remaining clothing. He lay naked on the blankets, his temples throbbing and his teeth aching. He swallowed several times, his mouth dry as dust.

His eyes stung from shed tears.

Maglor kissed him again, still soft, this time nearly familial.

“Not like that,” he muttered in protest, his words stumbling together, disgust welling up under his skin like beads of blood from a wound. He truly loathed when Maglor reminded him of how twisted their relationship had become.

He leaned in, though, unable or unwilling to resist the lure of his affection.

Maglor pushed him back against the pillows.

Maedhros settled against them and watched as Maglor made his way across the room. He went back to Maedhros’ desk and picked up his abandoned bottle of wine, rescuing his glass from the floor where it had landed. The metal was dented around the rim and base, and Maglor thumbed over the impressions before pouring in all of the remaining wine.

He tucked the empty bottle behind the desk, setting it down next to all of the others both of them knew were there.

Maedhros felt his pulse beginning to thunder through his veins.

“Drink,” Maglor ordered.

He handed Maedhros his glass, full nearly to the brim, and Maedhros blushed in mortification even as the pain blossoming up from his temples continued to grow.

He craved the relief the wine would bring him, the blissful numbness it promised him, but admitting to that felt like abject failure, and he burned with shame knowing how easily Maglor saw through him.

He froze.

Maglor’s eyes glittered as he took in Maedhros’ raw embarrassment. Maedhros should have turned his own eyes aside, but he could not resist continuing to stare back, basking in the glow of Maglor’s luminous skin and obsessing over the richness of his features.

Maglor leaned back, straightening up to his full height, and pulled his nightgown over his head in one smooth motion.

The wine sloshed.

Maedhros tried to catch his breath and failed. His blush increased, heating him up from within as his stomach twisted. His temples pounded through yet another layer of pain.

His brother was flawless.

His skin was rich in color, catching the flickering light of the candles and reflecting it back, dancing it over the shadows of his muscular shoulders and the sharp hollows of his collarbones. His cock was framed amidst the dark curls of hair that surrounded it by strong thighs and the smooth, bare plain of his stomach.

Maedhros gasped as one dying.

He drank.

“I can’t think,” he said, stuttering.

Maglor smiled and replied, “I find I don’t want you to.”

His teeth glinted with knifelike amusement.

Maedhros blinked, suddenly hazy.

His skin flooded with warmth from the inside out as the wine hit him hard, chasing back the pain from his temples and slicking his mouth with moisture. The lights around the room slipped out of focus, and even Maglor’s outline blurred. His reactions slowed.

He licked his lips.

He had swallowed his entire glass in seconds, leaving it drained in his hand, and even before, he’d still been far from sober. He hadn’t counted the time between all that had happened, caught up in the frenzied pace of their rutting and arguing, but it couldn’t have been more than an hour since Maglor had first thrown him down onto the bed.

He had been stumbling, badly, he remembered to his own horror.

His blush grew hot enough to stun him, and he fell back against the pillows, slumped over and cursing under his breath.

Maglor climbed atop him.

He straddled Maedhros’ thighs as he had earlier, but skin to skin, their bare flesh touching at last, pleasurable enough for Maedhros to cut himself off in the midst of something complicated and profane and unintelligible to moan, tossing his head back and letting his empty glass fall from his hand onto the bed.

His fingers curled into the blankets.

Maglor lined up their cocks and rocked them together in light circles, undulating his hips and grinding his ass down onto the tops of Maedhros’ thighs.

Maedhros ran his stump up from Maglor’s knee to his hip.

Maglor shivered. “Ai, brother.”

His eyelashes fluttered, vision escaping. “Maglor,” he slurred, helpless as desire overcame him.

“Let me give you this,” Maglor said, kissing the words across the line of his jaw and down the column of his neck. “Stop resisting. Stop punishing yourself.”

Maedhros didn’t hear him.

His words were meaningless, a melodious shower of noise against his ears as drunkenness rendered him useless. The rhythm of his brother’s hips sent blood rushing down to fill his cock, and it wasn’t long before he was once again hard to the point of aching. He burrowed his face into the pillows underneath him and moaned, drool slipping from between his parted lips.

Maglor sucked his neck, taking patches of mixed skin and scar tissue into his mouth and rolling them between his teeth.

Maedhros shuddered.

He thrust up sloppily, craving more of Maglor’s touch, and Maglor shushed him.

“I can’t,” he said, moaning. “I need you.”

Maglor laughed harshly and breathlessly against his shoulder. “Well, at least like this you’ll admit it.”

Maedhros wasted a long and confused moment attempting to work out what he meant by that before giving up in frustration.

He could barely raise his head.

He wanted to come.

He could feel his release rising up as his balls tightened. Sparks of liquid pleasure rolled down his spine. He cried out, his brother increasing the speed of their rhythm and sealing their lips together, thrusting his tongue deep into Maedhros’ waiting mouth.

His cock dribbled fluid, straining against Maglor’s.

He thought of nothing other than his own need, his own lust, clawing at him through the heavy veil of his intoxication. He cried out again, louder, rawer, and spilled his seed across their bellies in hot, sudden jets.

Maglor groaned into his mouth as Maedhros shuddered through the aftershocks, his cock still pulsing. He pulled back minutes later, straightening and sitting up on Maedhros’ thighs.

Maedhros blinked hazily up at him, nearly on the verge of passing out.

Maglor smeared his hand through his semen and used it to slick his cock where it stood hard and thick next to Maedhros’ softening length. He pumped himself several times, his strokes swift and almost harsh, his cheeks and the tips of his ears darkening to a deep red flush as he worked Maedhros’ seed over himself, rubbing it into his foreskin and teasing himself with his thumb.

Maedhros twitched at the sight, caught by the perverse eroticism of it.

Then his eyes went distant without him meaning them to, and he drifted off into a daze.

The candles shimmered to match the stars.

He felt Maglor slide down his legs, dragging his fingernails from Maedhros’ ribs over his hips and across his thighs, scraping at the deep and multilayered knots of his scar tissue and sending tremors through his muscles and up his spine.

Maedhros twitched in strange places, remaining otherwise unmoving. Maglor’s tongue darted out to lap at his stomach.

He licked up the last remnants of Maedhros’ seed.

Maedhros tried to protest, blushing deep, but the words tangled in his throat and came out in a slur of desperate nonsense.

He screwed his eyes shut.

Maglor bit his hip. “I want to do this,” he said, and Maedhros understood enough through his haziness to pick up on the dangerous edge needling at the tone of his voice. “You can go back to hating yourself in the morning.”

His fingers tore at the fabric of the blankets as his hand formed a fist.

Maglor finished his task, kissing and fondling Maedhros’ flaccid cock with unbearable gentleness until no stain remained save that of his saliva. He leaned back. “Turn over,” he ordered.

Maedhros’ chest burned.

Maglor smacked the outside of his thigh.

Maedhros hiccoughed and bit his tongue to stifle the sound of it. The hit left his skin warm and stung, and he rolled with it, ending up on his stomach with his head pillowed on his folded arms, his hair falling across his forehead and tickling his chin. Maglor arranged him further, tucking the loose strands back behind his ears.

He shuddered.

Maglor’s hands smoothed down his back in broad strokes, sweeping over him and following down his spine to the cleft of his ass.

He arched up.

His hips lifted from the bed and his knees slid apart, all of his movements warm and stumbling, driven by instinct alone. Maglor massaged him, digging into his skin and spreading him open.

Maedhros moaned.

His resistance shattered.

He longed for Maglor to take him and be done with it, and he cried out when Maglor’s hands pulled away from him.

His cock was still soft, twitching with confused, erratic sparks of pleasure that bordered on pain, and he burned with shame through the thick fog of his thoughts, confronted by the sheer strength of his continued need for his brother’s touch. Maedhros was desperate for him. He needed him even with his own desires slaked and his seed spent.

It was all he could do not to thrust backwards in search of his hands.

Maglor hummed something amused and soothing. “I haven’t left,” he added, kneeling at Maedhros’ side.

He smiled against the bare skin of Maedhros’ temple, and nosed aside his coppery mess of hair to kiss the ragged tip of his ear.

Maedhros shied away from him, turning his face.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Maglor said. His voice dripped with arousal though it was tinged with bitterness and regret. “You’ve always refused to see it.”

Maedhros blocked the words from his thoughts.

Maglor’s lips retreated. His last breath left cold saliva burning on Maedhros’ skin, making him shiver.

Then his hands returned to Maedhros’ ass, and when they did they were slick with oil.

Maedhros went pliant.

Maglor’s first finger pierced him.

He couldn’t even moan. His fading concentration was all spent on keeping his knees from collapsing out from under him.

His eyelids fluttered and closed, forced shut in anticipation.

Maglor teased him. 

He slid in and out of Maedhros’ passage and circled his opening with light and quick touches that would have had Maedhros squirming if he could have controlled his limbs enough to move. His chest shuddered with each of his indrawn breaths, and he buried his face in his arms, panting. Maglor continued, more oil drizzling over Maedhros’ skin as he added his second finger, driving it inside him up to the last knuckle.

Maedhros felt as though he would come apart.

His vision coalesced into bursts of vivid color and showers of falling stars behind his eyelids.

He needed Maglor to fuck him.

His soft cock stirred between his legs as Maglor brushed against him at the perfect angle. His pace increased, both of them drawing more and more pleasure from each other as the rhythm sped up, Maglor thrusting into him and stretching Maedhros until he was relaxed and loose, craving more.

“I want you,” Maglor choked out. “I have since the beginning. Please, brother.”

Maedhros’ heart leapt in his chest.

“Maglor,” he slurred.

It was a plea as well as an admonishment. Maglor’s fingers tensed and went still.

He pulled out.

Maedhros nearly screamed. The loss stung as badly as a fresh wound. 

Maglor shushed him.

He slicked more oil over Maedhros’ entrance and lined up his cock in the cleft of his ass. He was hard and flushed with a warmth that had Maedhros straining to take him. He rocked backwards, but Maglor held him firm with one hand, digging his fingernails into the muscles of Maedhros’ hip until his skin threatened to break under the pressure of them.

Maedhros waited with agonizing impatience.

Hours seemed to pass before Maglor’s cock breached him. He sucked in a frantic breath as he was stretched further than Maglor’s fingers had managed, but he could not force himself to tense, his muscles refusing to obey him.

Left pliant and unresisting in his drunkenness, Maglor filled him up.

Maedhros swallowed.

Saliva dripped from his mouth and tongue.

“You’re so good, I need you so much,” Maglor said, murmuring the words against Maedhros’ back as he slumped over him, pressing their bodies together. “I’m not going to last.”

His thrusts when he moved were hard enough to bounce Maedhros against the bed, and Maedhros felt his head swim from the jolting motions of them. His cock was hot and unyielding, cleaving him deeper as he pulled out and slammed back in again. 

Maedhros was more overcome than ever, surrendered to his brother’s pleasure and made into an object of his basest desires. It should have felt disgusting, but in his unthinking state it left him warm and content, nearly blissful.

His brother pounded into him, ragged with prolonged desire.

Maedhros panted, pleasure washing over him even though his own cock refused to harden again.

He was too exhausted, too strung out. His skin was flushed from head to toe, thoughts wrapped in a thick veil which was impossible to see through.

“I love you,” he said, nearly incomprehensible.

Maglor moaned. “You too, brother.”

His rhythm fragmented after that, growing uneven and rough.

He pumped his hips, his balls slapping against Maedhros’ ass and thighs, his breath hitching, catching in his throat seconds before he came. He groaned harsh and low as his cock emptied in great spurts, slicking Maedhros from the inside and turning his last thrusts messy and slick.

His teeth bit into Maedhros’ shoulder. 

Maedhros slumped onto the bed.

“Ai, brother,” Maglor murmured, mumbling the words against his skin, his voice as hoarse as Maedhros ever got to hear it.

He slipped his wilting cock from Maedhros’ ass and threw one arm over his shoulders, pulling him into a loose embrace as he rolled off of him. He ended up on his back, splayed against Maedhros’ side, his toes tickling Maedhros’ calves.

The casualness of that small touch reminded him all at once of the hideousness of their actions.

He shuddered in revulsion.

Loathing crashed over him in a great wave. His fingers curled tight, forming a fist, tendons straining. Tears sprung up in his eyes as he began to hate himself more than he hated anything.

This always happened, afterwards.

His brother stroked his shoulders as he began to sob into the shell of his arms. His skin was coated in sweat, and his muscles were tingling in exhaustion. He was still warm all over from the residual heat of his own sated desires.

He choked, gasping for air.

Maglor’s fingers grasped at his scalp, forcing Maedhros to turn his head to the side so that he could breathe easier.

“I want to die,” he sobbed.

“You can’t,” Maglor told him plainly, forgoing useless platitudes. “Not yet.”

Maedhros shuddered again.

The tremors ran up his spine and across his arms, and Maglor stroked his hair, combing through it, rubbing his neck and whispering, “Go to sleep for now, brother.”

Maedhros wept until he was physically unable to continue, eyes too tired to produce more tears, throat too sore to form sounds. Maglor stayed with him, curled up next to his side, and Maedhros refused to admit, even to himself, that the sickening, twisted love he felt for him only grew stronger.

He passed out in a stupor, Maglor’s hand still tangled in his hair.


End file.
